


Desperate Measures

by Mr_Teapot



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Angst and Tragedy, Deal With the Devil, Debt, Desperate Wilson, Don't make deals with creepy strangers at funerals, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Familial Love, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Organized Crime, Unless you're ready to pay the price
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 05:22:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21422863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Teapot/pseuds/Mr_Teapot
Summary: ”It’s a tragic thing, to lose something dear... a foolish one if lost twice.”---Set in the 1930's. After a missfortunate car accident tears the family of Wilson's dearest friends apart, he is swallowed up by grief. At the funeral, he encounters a strange man who offers him a way to avoid the same misery from striking the family once more.But at what cost?
Relationships: Abigail & Wendy (Don't Starve), Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve), Wendy & Wilson (Don't Starve), Willow & Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 46





	Desperate Measures

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank my dear friend xBooxBooxBear (a.k.a. the queen of maxwil) for always supporting me through my writing endeavors. I recommend checking her works out!
> 
> //EDIT// Since I have finished writing the story's plot now, I updated the tags.

* * *

On September 15, 14:26, two young girls were boarded into the back of an ambulance as a case of emergency. The twin sisters, age 9, had suffered severe injuries in a car accident caused by the collision of two vehicles. Only the two drivers involved had been lucky enough not to sustain any major injuries.

The investigation ruled out last night’s rain to be the cause. A driver had lost control of their car when the wheels yielded to the wet surface of the road. It crashed straight into the car of a father and his two daughters. The results were devastating.

Among other injuries, the girl named Wendy had received grave head trauma which had rendered her comatose. The doctors believed her chances of recovery to be very low. Only time could tell if she would wake up again. That is what they said, but everyone involved knew it was only a matter of time. Yet… Wendy had been the lucky one of the two.

Abigail did not make it.

Her funeral was held nearly a week later in the local church’s graveyard. The heavy downpour showed no sign of letting up as it fell on the small ceremony and the people gathered there. Abigail’s coffin rattled under the water’s weight when it fell hard onto the wooden surface. It served as a bitter reminder of what put her there.

The small group of people huddled close together around her closed casket, seeking both warmth and consolation from one another. Connected through grief, they all said their last goodbyes to little Abigail. Only one of the poor souls gathered to mourn her did not share blood ties with her. That did not mean his loss was any less felt. The man’s name was Wilson P. Higgsbury. He was a close friend to the girls’ family. Close enough for them to consider him a part of their own, which was a sentiment he returned. Now, one of them was gone forever. Perhaps the second girl would join her in the ground soon.

Wilson held his arm around the mothers’ frail shoulders as she wept into his chest. The father stood miserably at their side. In his shaking hand he held a rusty umbrella to shield his wife from the rain. The man failed to notice that he himself was drenched.

As Wilson watched his friends and the small wooden box in front of them, he felt like his own strength was washed away with the rain, bit by bit. It seeped out from his weary bones, down into the earth beneath his feet. Down until it drained him completely.

With all his heart, Wilson wished he could return time so the disaster that befell the twins would never have occurred. If only he could, the misfortune that was tearing the family apart would be undone... And they would be happy again. _He_ would be happy again. But he knew that could never be. Nothing would ever be the same for the Mallory family. Not when one of them was already lost and the second was falling apart, right in front of their eyes. No matter how hard Wilson worked, how many outdated scientific books he read, or how much he tried to convince himself he could make a difference, his meagre savings and misguided knowledge could not change a thing. It all amounted to nothing when that help was needed the most by the people he could not bear to live without. He could not return her to them. Wilson felt a dull ache wash over him as he bit into his bottom lip in helpless frustration.

Suddenly, a violent chill took hold of him, ridding his mind of anything else. The sensation was a different sort than the cold bite of rain. Too fierce to be ignored. Still holding his friend, Wilson peered over his shoulder to look behind him. There was nothing there but overgrown gravestones and wilted flowers. Yet, he still felt the nagging sensation prickle the skin of his neck like needles. Wearily, he let his gaze wander back again.

At that moment, he noticed a figure leaning against the church gate. A man.

Draped over his shoulders the tall stranger wore a fine grey coat lined with fur. Underneath, he was dressed in a matching striped tuxedo and a fine set of black leather gloves. Wilson caught the glimpse of a gold chain hanging out of his vest-pocket and frowned. The well-dressed man stuck out like a sore thumb against the group of grieving people clad in rugged black, himself included. Looking up, Wilson tried to remember if he had seen him before, but soon ruled it out as unlikely. Despite that half of the stranger’s face was hidden by the shade of his hat, his angular bone structure was unique and far too recognizable to forget. Even though Wilson could not see his eyes, he had the strange sensation that the man was looking straight at him. Behind the thick cigar smoke, the stranger’s lips curled into a smile.

Wilson narrowed his eyes at the sight. Anyone who would smile during an innocent girl’s funeral were either a horrible person or deranged in his book. Perhaps both. Not wanting to waste more time on someone that irked him, he opted to ignore the disturbing man and focus on the rest of the poor girl’s ceremony.

For a long time, the group stood frozen in place in the everfalling rain as they listened to the priest’s drawling speech. At some point, Wilson wondered if time had stopped, just for them. But like all things must, the funeral eventually reached its end. Slowly, the graveyard emptied out. The people gathered gave their last goodbyes to the deceased along with their deepest condolences to the parents. All of them understood why the Mallorys chose to return to their remaining daughter’s side in the hospital over holding an afterparty. After all, they did not know how much longer they would have the chance to, given her condition.

While he stood in front of Abigail’s open grave, Wilson felt the mother’s arms wrap around him in a hug, which he immediately returned. She pressed him close, like how a child would hold their father as they try to hide from something scary. Her running mascara smeared onto his clothes, but he did not care.

”I’m sorry, Amber.” Wilson mumbled into her mussed hair.

He sighed and released the woman just enough to be able to see her before he continued to speak. ”... Are you going to see Wendy?”

”Y-yes... We’re... going to see her.” She replied in a hoarse voice, choking on the words. ”Of course we want to stay with Abigail too, b-but... Both Joel and I are so scared that Wendy too will-! Ohh, god bless their souls...”

The woman started to cry again, pressing her hands to her face in despair. Wilson did not know what to do. Watching how the grief had changed his friends broke his heart. Amber had always been a sweet, frail little thing, but now it felt like she would break to pieces right in his arms. And Joel had changed even more. Once a proud, cheerful man, now reduced to a broken, empty shell of his old self. Despite never leaving his wife’s side, Joel had barely uttered a word since the accident. Even now, he stood a few steps away from them in silence with an empty look in his eyes. Wilson feared his friend blamed himself for having been there.... he could not imagine what he had seen that day.

”I’m sure Abigail would understand... And would want you both to be with her sister.” Wilson replied to his friends, his eyes wavering.

The words felt empty as they left his mouth. How could he know now what the girl would feel? That if she was here, she would be stoic instead of utterly terrified? Abigail was gone. All he had was speculation based on memories and his own coddled sympathy. As a man of science, he did not even have faith to relieve his grief, or theirs. It all left Wilson lost. He did not know how to deal with grief, nor how to console others. All he did was spout words like lines from a book, fearing that his true thoughts would drag his friends down with him.

Despite his doubts, Amber seemed to appreciate his words. She gave Wilson a feeble smile. In that moment she was so strikingly beautiful in his eyes, in the way fragile things often were. But for someone who remembered how her old smile looked like, it was an unbearable sight.

”Do you want to come with us?” Amber carefully asked as she wiped away both tears and makeup with a handkerchief.

In reaction, Wilson pulled down his flat cap slightly to avoid her eyes for a moment. ”I... You know I can’t, Amber....” he answered her with yet another small sigh.

The woman looked sad when she heard his words, for more reasons than one. Two things had slipped her mind as she had asked him that unintentionally cruel question: The first one was that no matter how close Wilson were to them, he was not tied to them through blood. The second was how strict the hospital regulations were regarding visits, solely allowing parents to come. Even they were limited to only a few times per week. Not that the Mallory family could afford more when they barely had enough money to pay the hospital fees. There was nothing they could do about it.

After giving Amber one last hug and Joel a reassuring pat on his shoulder, Wilson bid them goodbye. He watched the couple’s retreating backs with a heavy heart as he wished that he could go with them.

All but a sole few remained in the graveyard now, sitting outside the church port. The staff had asked him and the others to step back as they filled her grave, but had gently offered them to stay and watch if they wished to. Wilson was not ready to leave. He wondered to himself if he ever would be. As he watched the earth fall into place, he suddenly felt a presence near him.

"Got a light, pal?" he heard the deep voice of a man ask.

Wilson cautiously turned around to see the well-dressed stranger stand before him. Now when he could see him up close, he noted that the man looked around twenty years his senior. A new cigar settled in a firm grip between the man’s long, slender fingers.

"I’m all out," the stranger explained with an unsettling smile.

Wilson was immediately put off by the man’s smug carefreeness, regarding it as an insult to Abigail. "I don’t smoke," he bit out.

As soon as the words left Wilson’s mouth, the man in front of him tipped back his umbrella to lean closer. His height alone made the motion more intimidating since he easily towered over him.

”That's not what I asked,” the man stated while locking eyes with him. He leered at the sight of Wilson’s eyes widening in shock as he proceeded to repeat his words once more. ”Got a light?"

Wilson faltered a bit. For some reason, he felt that there was something disturbing about the way the stranger looked at him. Like the man had him all figured out. Wilson imagined he had that effect on most people who had the displeasure of meeting him, considering the man did not bother to conceal his arrogance one bit. His actions and words were far too invasive and persistent as well, which was a cause for alarm on its own. All he wanted was for the man to leave. With great reluctance, he picked out a set of matches from his pocket to shove the box towards the other.

"Don’t get them wet." Wilson muttered with disdain as he looked away. He always carried matches with him to use in his line of work, but he was not keen on sharing them with a stranger.

The man gave him a triumphant grin in return as he ignored the box to look Wilson directly in the eye.

"Be a pal and help me out, would you?" the stranger pleaded in a playful tone. Holding the umbrella in one hand and the cigar to his lips in the other, he shrugged. "I’m afraid my hands are full at the moment."

Grumbling under his breath, Wilson reluctantly stepped closer into the small space left under the umbrella to strike a match under its cover. The man’s smile widened as he peered down at the shorter man that tried to light his cigar with such contempt. As the stranger twirled it in his fingers so it could get warmed up evenly, he simply enjoyed the sight of the other squirm in his presence. After taking in a mouthful of smoke from the cigar when it was successfully lit, the stranger sighed in content.

Wilson scrunched up his nose in irritation as the smoke from the man’s breath encased them both. "Will that be all?" he snapped after he stepped back into the rain, clearly uncomfortable by the company. "I want to be alone."

The other man gave a short, condescending laugh at that, looking down at him knowingly.

"Do you now, Mr. Higgsbury?"

Hearing his own name roll of the stranger’s tongue seized Wilson’s body with shock. He knew they had never met before. Judging by the way the other acted, he did not seem to have any unknown connection to Abigail’s family either. Both anger and fear struck Wilson.

"How do you know my name?" Wilson demanded to know, hating how the panic seeped into his voice without his consent.

"Take it easy, pal. Word gets around, even at funerals." the man explained with ease, letting his gaze wander to two people standing under the church roof who had remained.

Wilson did not believe him. During the whole funeral, he had not seen the man speak to anyone, nor stand close enough to be a part of the ceremony. He was clearly a bystander, trespassing into their moment of grief for some unknown reason. From what he had seen of the man, it could not be for anything good. The wisest move would be to not get involved. But despite every logical part of himself telling him to walk away, he could not help but be curious about the man’s intentions. And curiosity was hard to resist for a man like himself.

"...Look, I don’t know you. What do you want from me?" Wilson asked with a huff and crossed his arms.

The man shook his head while he smiled at him, looking disturbingly pleased by Wilson’s question. "Oh, this is not about what I want from you, my dear fellow...” he purred. ”It’s about what I can offer you."

Wilson looked up at the man in front of him in bewilderment as he registered the words and what they implied. He took a firm step back before he voiced his suspicion.

”If this is a drug dealer thing, no thanks.”

The stranger barked out a laugh, seeming pleasantly surprised by his reply. Holding up his gloved hand he studied the burning cigar in front of him. ”Not this time, pal,” he answered and paused to take another puff before he continued. ”...Unless what you desire has changed that is?”

Wilson felt his own brow furrow into a scowl. By the way the stranger spoke, he made it sound like he already knew what he wanted from the man. The thought angered Wilson as much as it creeped him out. Crossing his arms once more, he glared at the man as he waited for a proper explanation.

The stranger looked back at him with a raised brow. ”Not a patient man, are you? Very well.” he exclaimed before gesturing towards Wilson with his hand.

”I know your sort, Mr. Higgsbury. I’ve dealt with many men just as desperate as yourself through the years... Consider it a part of my job.”

That, Wilson could believe. They lived in dark times where falling into debt was an everyday occurrence. Criminal gangs and larger organizations thrived on using the weak who were desperate enough to do anything for money or a way to forget their misery. It usually did not turn out well for them.

”I know your ’sort’ all too well myself.” Wilson muttered bitterly, more to himself than the stranger before him.

The man turned silent for a moment. Wilson did not miss how the grip on the cigar that the man held to his lips twitched. He could have sworn the man hissed as he exhaled a slow breath. ”...And what sort would that be, pal?” the stranger asked while he peered at him through the heavy mist of smoke that wrapped around him.

In return, Wilson bared his teeth at the man with tightened fists, too angry to back down. ”One low enough to try to exploit a man at a funeral.” he replied with clear disgust in his tone. ”I don’t need you, or your services.” With that said, he turned to leave.

The man, however, was not done with him.

”It’s a tragic thing, to lose something dear... a foolish one if lost twice,” the smooth voice called out from behind him.

Wilson halted his actions as the man’s peculiar words reached him. Against his better judgment, he turned back toward the man with questioning eyes.

”... What?”

Seeing the younger man’s attention return to him, the stranger continued to speak while he closed the distance between them with a slow, confident gait. ”You want something back. No matter the cost.” Changing his grip on the cigar, he then used his free fingers to take out a piece of black paper from his vest-pocket.

”I can give that to you.” the man said, as he offered it for Wilson to take.

Out of shock, the younger man found himself accepting the piece of paper. He had half expected it to be a business card, but on closer inspection he saw that it was left completely blank. No... Rather than blank, the whole surface was coated in some strange black substance. Despite the rain that soaked his whole palm, the paper also seemed perfectly intact.

"Write my name on it and place it on what you want back.... something that has been taken from you." the man explained, gesturing to the scrap of paper.

Believing that the man was toying with his mourning heart, Wilson felt a wave of emotions wash over him. His fist crushed the paper in a tight grip as his whole body trembled in both anger and despair. "There’s nothing you can give me." Wilson hissed before falling silent, anguish painting his features. "... Abigail is dead... nothing will change that, so if this is some sick joke-!"

"Is that all that's been taken? In the world of the living?" The other man interjected. He smirked at the visible shock in the younger male’s expression. The look of desperation that had flashed in Wilson’s eyes did not go unmissed. Seeming satisfied by the outcome, the stranger gave him his last words before he readied himself to leave.

"Do what I say, if you want a taste of what I have to offer. Then we can talk... business," he murmured in a voice sweet as honey.

As the man started to walk away, he halted briefly to look back at him over his shoulder. "Oh. And the name's Maxwell." he added with a wicked grin, before leaving Wilson alone in the now empty graveyard.

Alone with only his thoughts and aching heart, all thrown into chaos with the small hope that had been left with him.

  
\----

Wilson did not sleep that night. He lay awake in the dark for hours on end, tossing and turning. No matter how he tried, what the stranger had said to him at Abigail’s funeral would not leave his mind. The man called... Maxwell.

The piece of crumpled paper still remained in his jacket pocket. For some reason, he had kept it, despite how meaningless a notion it was. A piece of parchment could not save him from the demons that plagued his every thought since the accident.

Wilson ran his hands through his raven hair, tugging it relentlessly as he tried to sort out the chaos in his head. But it was no use. None of Maxwell’s words made any sense to him. Wilson did not believe in stories absurd enough to be picked straight out of a fairy-tale. He was a scientist, not some stargazed child who still believed in miracles and wonders beyond explanation. What he believed in was the cold and unsparing, yet reliable facts. No matter how much they hurt him.

Abigail was dead. Wendy’s time was running out. That was the cruel reality he had to live with. If wishes were enough, both the girls would be safe right now... So why should he trust the nonsense of a stranger, who most likely scammed people for a living?

With a strangled sound, Wilson rose into a sitting position with the use of his shaky arms. The misery swelled within his chest like a choked-up ache.

He missed Abigail so much. So much that he could not stand it.

When he closed his eyes, he could still see her bright smile light up as he entered the small port of his friend’s apartment after a long, hard day at work. Wendy would always stay right beside her, with a more discrete one, yet a smile nonetheless. To him, the girls were one of the few good things left in this harsh world, where every day was a struggle to remain sane. He knew he was better off than most. At least he had a roof over his head and didn’t have to scavenge the streets for an extra dime. But the threat of poverty was ever present and a heavy burden to bear. In the midst of that hell, every visit to the girl’s family had been a breath of fresh air.

And it had been taken from him so easily. Just the mere thought of Wendy disappearing too had him trembling in fear. Perhaps that was why he could not forget Maxwell’s words and what they did to his heart.

Hope was such a cruel thing.

At first, Wilson had dismissed the man at the funeral as a common con artist. Scams were frequent these days, when most people in the poor district grasped for any chance at a better life. What Wilson found strange, however, was that the man had not charged him. He had not even left him with his contact information. Wilson wondered if the man himself was mad. Either that, or he was playing some elaborate prank on him. Recalling the events in the churchyard infuriated him. What angered him even more was that he could not forget about it, no matter how hard he tried.

Soon, the first rays of light seeped through his worn blinds to signal the morning, all while Wilson still remained lost in thought. At some point he must have registered that it was a new day, because when he finally came to his senses, he realized he was not in his shabby apartment anymore. Disoriented, he looked around him, only to see that he was standing in front of the hospital. He had no memory of how he got there. Considering he was dressed for the weather, he must have kept some sense with him as his own legs led him to... her.

Wilson sighed as he tried to rub the sleep away from his eyes. Coming here had been a pointless effort. Even if he had permission to enter, the hospital was not open for visits today. His only option was to return back home again.

Yet, for some reason he could not will himself to leave. His body did not allow him to even look away. As Wilson stood there, staring openmouthed at the hospital building, he was struck by the most absurd and overwhelming feeling. That feeling told him, loud and clear, that if he did not go to Wendy now, he would never get to see her again. Not alive.

_”It’s a tragic thing, to lose something dear... a foolish one if lost twice.”_

Panic seized his heart as he recalled Maxwell’s ominous words. Just picturing another small coffin besides Abigail’s caused a low cry to escape his throat. His breathing grew frantic in seconds.

”No no no no...” he whined as he shook his head vehemently, trying to disperse the image through force.

For a moment, he simply stood there with his head in his hands, trying with all his might to ward of the misery that surged within his chest. It took him every ounce of strength not to get swallowed up by it. As soon as he finally managed to calm himself down enough to think, he realized he only had one option left.

He had to sneak in. The question was how.

Wilson took a deep breath as he tried to estimate the situation and form up a plan. Considering that the hospital was in a pretty rundown area, security should not be too tight, he thought. But if the staff caught a stranger strolling around without a visit card, he was sure to raise suspicion. The only leverage to help him get inside her ward was that he had a friend who worked in the building. Since he did not even know if she worked today, let alone how he would contact her discreetly, that was only a small possibility. No, he would have to make do either way.

Scanning the building from the outside, his eyes stopped on a window which had carelessly been left open. Wilson grimaced. Far from optimal, but at least that would get him past the receptionist.

Taking a deep breath, he started walking towards the window as casually as he could while trying to convince himself he was doing the right thing.

”Ok, Wilson. You can do this... remember when you snuck into Mrs. Watson’s garden? Same principle... Less thrown objects,” he mumbled to himself bitterly, not entirely convinced by a pep-talk based on his apple-thieving days.

After peeking through the curtains and seeing only a sleeping patient inside the room, Wilson heaved himself over the edge of the window. Wrangling his legs to the other side, he was careful not to make any noise as he jumped down from the ledge.

Now when he was inside, his anxiety doubled. Knowing he did not have time to dawdle, he stubbornly pushed it down in order to focus on his surroundings. No Wendy in sight, but at least he had not gotten caught. Yet. He knew he had to blend in better, and the easiest way to do that was to disguise himself as part of the staff. Wilson was not satisfied with his limited options, but male nurses had grown scarce over the years and he doubted he could pull of a female one. Despite having shaved for the funeral, his stubble had already grown back fully. No, he would have to get his hands on a doctor’s outfit, if possible.

Wilson eyed the sleeping patient’s clothes for a moment, before deciding against it. Not only would the size be too small, but he had not sunk low enough to steal a sick patient’s clothes. Besides, a patient wandering around the halls was likely to be questioned, and he wanted to avoid needless confrontation.

Looking around the room for something else of use, he felt a small victory when he discovered a hand mirror lying on a side table. As soon as he had grabbed it, however, the sound of footsteps reached his ears.

With haste, the man dove down behind an empty bed. ‘_Did they hear me?’_ Wilson wondered in fear as he lay sprawled down on the cold floor, listening intently to the approaching sound. For each step, he could feel his own heart pound harder and louder in his chest. When the person was right behind him, he was almost certain they had discovered him. In the midst of his panic, he frantically debated whether or not he should knock them out, before they could grab him.

Just as he readied himself to jump out, the footsteps passed by him. To his relief, the sound soon ebbed away until it vanished completely. Letting out a breath he had not realized he kept in, he used the hand mirror to check if the coast was clear behind him. Thankfully, no one but him and the sleeping patient was there.

Standing up, he checked the hallways in the same way as before, angling the mirror to see the path on the other side of the corner. Seeing that the coast was clear, Wilson then hurried to the next section of the building as quickly and silently as he could manage. To his dread, he could hear the sound of voices come from the few doors he passed. Their presence made it impossible to search the rooms for some sort of disguise. The only thing to be grateful for was that the doors remained closed.

Or so he thought.

In the middle of the corridor, a door suddenly swung open only a few meters in front of him. Wilson froze in fear as he saw an old nurse walk out, holding a bunch of files pressed to her chest. Right when the woman was about to turn around and see him, Wilson felt hands clasp over his mouth and waist. With a muffled noise, he was pulled backwards with force.

When he came to his senses, the hands had already released him. As he steadied himself against the door, he realized he was now on the inside of a small storage room. Panic took over his senses immediately. Wilson whipped around to face his captor while fumbling for the door handle, ready to make a bolt for it. When he saw who it was, his fear vanished completely.

Her usual red blouse and black skirt had been replaced by a nurse outfit, but the childlike sense of curiosity in the woman’s eyes was undoubtedly the same.

”Willow...?”

Without answering, the woman pushed her way past Wilson and locked the door. Before he had a chance to speak again, she spun around to look him directly in the eye.

”You’re here for Wendy,” she stated.

Blinking a few times in shock, he nodded. Willow had always been blunt, but it never ceased to surprise him. ”Yes. Yes, I am. I-”

Wilson stopped to run a hand through his hair as he tried to choke back the emotions that had welled up by the mere thought of Wendy. The feeling still remained. ”... It has to be now, Willow.”

She stared at him in silence for a moment before replying with a simple, ”Ok”.

”What?”

”Ok, I will help you,” Willow repeated. Without further ado, she then pushed the man aside once more, this time causing him to crash into the wall with a grunt.

Rubbing his face after the fall, he turned towards the young woman who was busy rummaging through shelves and boxes. ”Are you sure?” he asked. Wilson had to admit that it would help to have someone who might know where Wendy was, instead of blindly searching every room. But he knew that might get Willow in trouble since her job was at stake.

”Today’s been a bore anyway,” she said with a low hum. ”I don’t feel fired up.”

Out of the two of them, Willow had not changed at all. She was still as candid as he had remembered.

”Then... Thank you,” Wilson murmured, having mixed feelings. After watching the young woman for a moment, he sighed. If only he could have at least half of her carefreeness, life would be much easier. He was grateful for the assistance, but could not help but feel guilty. Feeling a bit anxious for both their sakes, he glanced at the door with a small frown.

”What is it?” Willow asked while tilting her head at an old, stained shirt.

”Wouldn’t it appear strange if they noticed the door was locked?”

”Not really. The other staff lock themselves in here all the time. Usually with company too, judging by the sounds they make.” Willow answered with a shrug while she smelled the fabric in her hands, before throwing it over her shoulder.

Wilson coughed awkwardly as he discreetly peeled himself from the wall. With his cheeks burning, he tried to keep his composure by changing the subject. ”Do you... Do you still have that ’bright’ habit of yours?” he asked her hesitantly.

”Oh, no. They confiscate my lighter during work hours.” She said in a disappointed tone as she shook her head. ”Not good for the children, they said. They like Bernie though.”

True to her words, her old, scorched teddy bear was perched on her shoulder with its arms hanging over the front. Wilson wondered to himself how she could manage to keep him there without falling off, but wasn’t curious enough to ask. That the woman’s arsonist tendencies had been subdued, however, was a relief to Wilson. Normally, her habit would only be a mild concern. But taking the hospital’s current emotional significance to him in consideration, he would he horrified if it went up into flames.

Seeming to finally have found what she looked for, Willow forced him to spread his arms. Before Wilson could question her actions, she guided his arms and legs through a baggy overall. Based on the smell, it had been used. The soggy hat that she slapped onto his head _definitely_ had been.

Willow stepped back to admire her work when she was done. ”There. Now you’re Mr. Baxter 2. Say hello to Mrs. mop’n’bucket!” she exclaimed and thrusted the two items on him.

Wilson blinked as he took the items into his hands.

”They always complain that we need a new janitor anyway.” she added while twirling one of her black pigtails around a finger.

When Wilson grasped what her plan was, he managed to drop the mop and bucket in his excitement. ”You’re brilliant, Willow!” he beamed before he leaned down to kiss her hand like a true gentleman. With this disguise, he was sure to avoid suspicion from the hospital’s eyes.

Willow’s whole face went a bright shade of red as she giggled. ”I know. Now let’s go, old man,” she teased. Even if she knew it would not last, the sight of her friend reverting to some of his old habits again seemed to make her happy.

”Technically, being 32 doesn’t qualify me as-” He stopped himself from finishing his sentence as Willow raised one eyebrow at him.

”...You’re right, Willow. No time to waste. Early midlife-crises can wait.”

With that, Willow opened the door and gestured for Wilson to walk outside so she could lock the door behind them. While watching the open doorway, the smile on Wilsons face fell. The time had come to see Wendy. For a moment, that had pleased him immensely. Yet... As soon as the door had swung open, it all had become real. Wilson’s brief enthusiasm was quickly replaced by nervous anticipation. What he suddenly realized was that as much as he yearned to see her again, seeing her was not going to bring him joy. It was going to be painful. For a moment, he could not help but stare warily at the bright world outside the room, suddenly unsure.

The sound of someone clearing their throat was what caused Wilson to finally jerk to attention once more. Willow was getting impatient. One glance at her told him that either he walks out, or she would close and lock it anyway, whether he was still inside or not. Taking a deep breath, he finally managed to take a clumsy step over the threshold while clutching the mop to his chest.

Locking the door, Willow turned towards Wilson with a little gentler approach. ”You ready?”

”Yes,” he lied.

She shook her head and frowned. ”You don’t look so good.”

Willow’s unblinking eyes kept staring at him long enough for him to avert his gaze. Feeling slightly uncomfortable under her scrutiny, he tried to lighten the mood. ”Well, sorry for being so ’mop’-ey,” Wilson joked as he raised the mop in his hand. His smile did not reach his eyes.

After a moment of awkward silence between them, it was Willow’s turn to sigh. ”You don’t have to force yourself to be happy, Wilson.”

Wilson’s eyes turned wide in reaction to her blunt words and he nearly dropped the mop and bucket again. He could feel his own smile falter on his face. In his haste to cover it up, the man opened his mouth to joke it off again. Nothing came out. Nothing but the ache he tried so hard to repress. With his lips pressed into a fine line, he pulled down the smelly hat over his eyes and nodded.

”Do you want to hug Bernie?” she offered. Despite her words, she held her own arms out.

Wilson let out a short, surprised laugh as he felt his eyes tear up. ”So it’s a package deal, then?”

Willow shrugged before pulling him into a hug. The way Bernie pressed against his face, it really was as if he was hugging him too. Wilson could feel the ache well up again and he sniffled. Willow gave good hugs. Her arms always felt solid and strong. So unlike his own arms that hovered over her back, unsure. Before he could return the hug fully, his ears caught the distinct sound of footsteps in the corridor. It took him a great ounce of willpower to gently push Willow’s shoulder so that she would not get caught hugging ’the janitor’. Wilson could only imagine the gossip that would spread, not wishing that on his friend.

She got the hint. Releasing her grip on him, she peered curiously into his eyes as if to check if he was ok. The man simply nodded. With her own nod of confirmation, Willow then turned to lead the way. Wilson wiped away the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes as he trailed after her.

The trip to Wendy’s ward had only taken minutes, but his heart had hammered frantically in his chest throughout the whole time. Whenever they passed a part of the staff, Wilson feared they would grab him by his coat and throw him out. But it never happened. No one paid him any mind as he scurried after Willow with mop and bucket in hand.

Before long, Willow stopped in front of a wall of curtains. She opened it quickly, before ushering Wilson inside. ”I don’t know how much time you have. Probably not more than ten minutes,” she whispered, somewhat apologetically.

”That’s.. more than I could dream of, Willow. Thank you,” Wilson replied with a shaky smile. His old confidence had dissipated completely on the way there, leaving only a tired, sorrowful man behind.

She did not reply, but simply offered him a reassuring smile before she stepped back.  
As soon as she closed the curtains around him, the man felt his legs cave in. Wilson heard himself laugh nervously while he sunk down to the floor.

”I can’t believe I actually did it,” he whispered to himself with a mix of horror and awe. His heart was still beating loudly in his ears.

Now when the adrenaline wasn’t pumping through his body and he allowed himself to relax, he grasped just how exhausted he was. Both mentally and physically. Since the accident, he had drowned himself in work in order to escape his grief. Along with the grief, the guilt from not being able to give emotional support to the remaining twin had been eating him alive the whole time. Yet, now when he was here, sitting on the floor with borrowed time, he was scared of looking at her. The little girl with the gentle smile that always clung to her sister... Now weak and alone in her sickbed.

Wilson bit into his own lip harshly to wake himself from his stupor. As the taste of blood spread through his mouth, he realized that even if he was terrified, he was being unfair. Not only to Wendy, but to her sister as well who could no longer be with her. Standing up on trembling legs, he took a deep breath before he spun around to face her.

The sight brought him to tears instantly. Seeing her bandaged, frail figure in the oversized bed was too much. It made him remember how Abigail had looked like when they... when they showed them her body.

Wilson carefully cupped the side of her face to gently stroke her cheek with his thumb. Her breathing was so slow and quiet that he barely could hear it. As he stood over her bed, looking down at the poor girl, he wished with all his heart that everything could return to how it once was.

_"Write my name on it and place it on what you want back.... something that has been taken from you."_

Wilson gasped, retracting his hand from the girl as if burned. Slowly, he unbuttoned his overall enough to be able to move his hand toward his own jacket instead, down into his pocket. He could feel his fingertips brush against the cold paper he had kept on a whim.

”Write his... name?” he wondered aloud as he recalled the stranger’s words. Taking out the object in his hand, he unfolded it before he stared down at wrinkly piece of paper. Against his fair skin, it looked as black as coal. He looked up at Wendy’s scraped face for a moment, before his gaze fell back to his hand. Normally, he would not believe in such stories... But Maxwell had been right about one thing.

Wilson was a desperate man.

Taking out a stubby pen from his pocket, he started writing. The black surface of the note scraped away with the pen, soon spelling out Maxwell’s name in white, cramped letters. He blinked in shock a couple of times as he could have sworn the residue of the marked surface evaporated into smoke right in front of him. Despite there being no fire, it had almost looked like the letters where burning.

Pushing back his fear, Wilson reached out for Wendy’s arm. With a beating heart he placed the piece of paper in her open palm, gentle squeezing her hand shut around it. For a while, he waited. He was not sure what he was expecting to happen. The longer he looked at the child’s weak form as he stood there, the more he felt himself break apart. Eventually, he reached his limit. Cradling her closed fist in his hands, Wilson finally fell to his knees with a sob.

”Please, please...wake up," he cried, while pressing his forehead against her hand in a silent prayer.

Against all odds, she did. As he clutched onto her, overtaken by sorrow, he suddenly felt her hand twitch in his. In shock, his tear-filled eyes snapped up towards her face. He could not believe what he saw. Her eyelids were still shut, but they fluttered slightly.

”Wendy...?” Wilson breathed as he felt his whole body begin to tremble. One of his hands returned to the side of her cheek. He watched her small chapped lips jerk in small movements, until they formed real words.

”Uncle... Wilson?” Wendy whispered in her fair timbre as she turned her face toward him.

New tears formed in Wilson’s eyes and he could not help but laugh again as the mix of relief, pain and joy all washed over him at once.

”Yes, my girl, it’s me...! You came back! You-”

His words got caught in his throat as he watched Wendy finally open her eyes. They were blank. The iris and pupil were completely gone, leaving only the white surface behind. He watched in silent horror as strange black markings started to grow out like roots on the skin beneath her eyes. Before he could comprehend what he saw, the curtains opened in a swift motion.

”Oh-!” the plump nurse in front of him exclaimed in surprise as soon as she saw him. In seconds, the surprise turned into anger and she began berating him in a hushed voice.

”What are you doing here, Sir? Visiting hours are not unti- OH!” she cried out once more when she took in the whole scene, clasping her hands over her mouth. Willow, who was standing behind her, was wearing a similar expression of disbelief.

After a painfully long silence, they both burst with happiness. Before long, they got to work. Apparently, Wendy had become a favorite among the staff, despite her state of unconsciousness during her stay. The people who came to check up on Wendy seemed to have forgotten Wilson’s presence completely. They were gentle and careful in both words and actions, but he could see that they were overjoyed that she was awake despite her previous critical condition.

As Wilson watched them rejoice over the medical miracle, he came to realize that no one else could see the change in her eyes. For a while, this alarmed him. But as soon as her parents entered the room with tearstained faces, that fact was forgotten. He embraced his friends, sharing their joy, tears and laughs of relief. After all the suffering the three had endured, Wendy had truly returned to them.

None of them noticed the faint smoke that swirled up from the girl’s empty palm, before it faded into nothing.

  
\---

It turned out they had not forgotten Wilson after all. He was severely reprimanded after things calmed down. Thankfully, they had not realized that he had gotten help, which meant Willow was safe. The one’s in charge told him he was lucky they did not press any charges against him for having snuck in like a thief, but seeing as he did share a close bond with the patient, they could let it slip. Unless he himself needed medical care, however, he was forbidden to enter the hospital in the near future. Wilson, who had not been able to visit Wendy before anyway, did not regret his actions one bit.

Seeing as there was nothing wrong with Wendy, they let her go home after another week had passed. The doctors did not know how to explain her fast improvement, which went against any medical science the world had seen before. Her recovery rate was abnormal. Not a trace of the head trauma or the other injuries she had received could be found on her, no matter how many tests they ran.

It was as if the accident had never occurred.

For some reason, the hospital had kept the family’s wishes to keep Wendy’s fast recovery from reaching the newspapers. Wilson thought they were being oddly accommodating, considering how much publicity the small hospital would gain if they leaked the ”medical miracle” to the pres.

At the same time, he was grateful for it and he knew Amber and Joel were too. After all the bad things that had happened, neither of them wanted Wendy’s recovery to become a spectacle. They still mourned Abigail and wanted to live with their other daughter in peace.

Wilson understood that Amber and Joel had told Wendy about the unfortunate news during the week he had to wait through, based on how the girl acted. She did not bring up her sister’s death, but she had changed. Compared to how she was before the accident, she was even more serene and quiet than before. At times, she would look off into the distance, completely forgetting Wilson’s and her parents’ presence. He knew it was only natural, given what had happened. They all had changed in their own way. Despite how his heart ached for the girl, Wilson still felt relieved that she was alive and well.

Now when he could finally be with Wendy without restriction, he visited the family as much as he could. He knew he was taking more time off work than he could afford, but he could not help himself. For once, he was thankful for the fact that he was self-employed, despite his financial struggles.

Before long, he could sleep again, without fear for nightmares. It took time, but soon he had replaced the anxiety that previously plagued him throughout the nights with hope. That was all thanks to Wendy. Her return allowed him forget.

The memory of the strange man in the graveyard and the black note he was given was repressed along with them. He saw no trace of either, after all.

The three first weeks that followed after Wendy’s release had been a blessing for the Mallory family. Wilson could finally see a little strength return to Amber’s fragile build with every passing day. And Joel, he actually began speaking again. Not much, but it was a start. Things were finally turning around for the family. God knows they deserved it.

But in the end…the happiness was short-lived.

All of a sudden, Wendy collapsed. Midsentence. Like a ragdoll, she fell to the ground right in front of them in the living room. None of them had seen it coming. No matter how much they tried, she would not wake up. Amber’s earsplitting scream rung though the room as Wendy began to bleed from the back of her head. Wilson watched on in frozen horror as the roots beneath the motionless girl’s eyes slowly crept back on her skin. The strange substance rose from her face in thick plumes of smoke, only to evaporate in the air as quickly as it came. All that was left was the lifeless body of a girl.

When they arrived to the hospital, the doctors had no possible explanation for her state. To those who had seen her change, her few weeks of consciousness felt like a far-off dream by now. She had returned to her previous condition, with all the old injuries that entailed. All the doctors could tell was that she was not likely to live for long.

Not even a day afterwards, the rumors of the family’s misfortune had spread across the neighborhood. Hardship was a part of life in the harsh times they lived in, but most would agree that the Mallorys had suffered a lifetime’s worth of it, all in the span of a month. Why, tragedy had not struck their home once, but twice! The gossip only grew by each mouth it passed.

‘_Oh how pitiful, how pitiful. No children, no money! It’s the streets for them, I’m sure._’

They could not see how the two could afford the raking hospital bills, let alone their own rent. More than a few began to cross their hearts as they passed the couple’s home, in hope to ward of any new ills to reach their door. Others simply continued to gossip out of spite. The malicious folk who partook in it could not help but take some satisfaction in the knowledge that someone else’s suffering was greater than their own.

_’Once tragedy sets its hooks in you,’_ they tattled in hushed voices. _’Once it does, it never let’s go’._

It swallows you whole.

\---

Amber and Joel were not alone in their suffering. Only a few days had passed since Wendy collapsed. Yet, Wilson’s whole world had turned to hell in only seconds. Holed up in his workplace, he mourned for the second time. His apartment was an utter mess. Broken clocks, tools, clothes and crumbled notes were strewn and clustered across the small floorspace. In the middle of all the chaos, Wilson sat slumped over his working desk with one hand wrangled in his unruly hair. In the other he held a loose grip on a chipped Erlenmeyer flask, which he dangled dangerously over the edge.

The man hiccupped while he clumsily rose from the table, just enough to take another swig from the container. His red-shot eyes wandered aimlessly in front of him, until they finally settled on the flask in his hand. Without warning, a sudden rage shot up from within him at the sight, fueled by his own crushing despair. He could not resist the urge to take out his overflowing emotions on the item, along with all that it stood for.

”To science...!” he cried, before smashing the half-full flask on the floor.

The shards scattered across the room, with some stray pieces getting caught in the hem of his pants. He could not care less. Wilson watched the alcohol seep between the floorboards as the sound of his own heaving breaths filled his ears. Moments later, he fell back into his chair to clutch his head in his hands as he choked down a trembling sob.

While he wallowed in his misery, the phone suddenly rang. The shrill ringing echoed painfully on the inside of his skull. Wilson glared at the incessant device though his hazed vision as he swayed in his chair. He had chosen an older candlestick model, simply because that was all he could afford. An investment for his ‘future business’. Now the bills were piling up, his science equipment barely touched due to lack of time and he had been forced to take freelance fix-it jobs just to survive.

And Wendy, she was in a critical condition again. He did not think it was possible, but the agony he felt was even more consuming than the first. The brief happiness had been snatched away so cruelly, that Wilson had to wonder why they had been given that false hope in the first place.

While Wilson was lost in his grief, the phone continued to ring endlessly. With the terrible headache the noise gave him, it became impossible to ignore for long. His hand hovered over the phone for some time, yet he could not will himself to pick it up. The only people he had given his number to was Amber and Joel, so Wilson could imagine a number of possible reasons for the call. Which was exactly why he feared answering it.

What if they called to tell him that the worst had finally happened? That Wendy was _dead_? Just imagining it made his chest feel like it was splitting in two.

At the same time, the ugly feeling of guilt coursed within him. Wilson recalled his friends’ brittle forms in the graveyard and then in their own living room, crumbling as they watched their two girls slip from their grasp. When he closed his eyes at night, he still could hear Amber’s screams. That was enough to spur him to move.

With shaking hands, he slowly picked up the phone, pressing one cold piece to his ear and the other to his trembling lips. Before Wilson had the chance to utter a word, however, he was greeted by a familiar voice. Although, not one he had expected.

”So, Mr. Higgsbury...” A smooth voice murmured in his ear. ”Did you like the taste?"


End file.
